


The Right to Life.

by itsahardyparty, xbrokendollzx



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Championship Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7074745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahardyparty/pseuds/itsahardyparty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbrokendollzx/pseuds/xbrokendollzx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very few were capable or well prepared enough to survive the End Times, but those that were had found themselves split up into small, roving bands, hellbent on survival. Now, only a few remain, and the remnants of two factions find themselves having to team up in the interest of keeping themselves alive. Will the battle against the very thing attempting to destroy them repel them further from each other, or push them closer? Only time will tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right to Life.

"Hardy, I don't think there's anything else here for us," Scott grunted, pulling himself up out of the underbrush behind his companion. They'd been hunting for two days now, and all they'd managed to get their hands on had been a handful of sparrows and a jackrabbit. They were _starving._

"There's gotta be deer or something around here. I saw tracks," the southerner grunted stubbornly. Scott and Jeff didn't necessarily get along well, but they'd been the only men in their little band that had been smart enough to survive all this time. Despite the conflicting personalities, they were actually a pretty fair team. They never let personal beef get in the way of their survival, and they each knew their roles. Jeff took the ammunition, weapons, and supplies off the dead bodies, and Scott found a way to cook them. Though the two of them tried to avoid cannibalism when possible, they understood that it was sometimes a necessity, and had made their peace with it.

"If we don't find anything within a matter of hours we have to keep moving. It doesn't make any sense for us to stick around in a place where there's nothing, at least not yet." Jeff turned around to look at him, eyebrows knit. "Look around, Hardy." Scott made a broad gesture to the trees, green eyes darting up to observe.

Things were growing again.

The trees were no longer mere saplings; some looked as if they'd been around for as many as five years. Things almost looked like they did in the Old Days. After all the wildfires, people had feared that nothing would ever grow again.

The End Times had been different than most people had expected the apocalypse to be. People did not recognize it for what it was at first. There was no nuclear war. There were no zombies. The sun did not explode. There were no bombings, no military occupations, nothing.

One day, in a vast, parched field in southern Nebraska, something had caught fire. The tall, dry grass was not much for waiting and quickly caught flame, which sent up the woods surrounding it. Wild fires were reasonably common in the midwest, so this was nothing to write home about... except for the fact that the firefighters could not put it out. They were unable to even stall it. Even as it engulfed the small nearby towns with their shouting children and matchbox houses, the only thing anyone could do was watch the grim newscasts in fixed horror as body after charred body was shown.

At least, that had been the start for the United States.

The apocalypse had come to planet earth in the form of disaster after natural disaster. Tsunamis ensured that every continental coast on planet earth was thoroughly underwater, and sharply arid air had ensured that any land that was dry enough to be on fire was. Japan had been completely submerged, as was most of India, as well as the respective entireties of Italy and Greece. Earthquakes rattled the entire planet, leaving already-ravaged cities completely destroyed, and their inhabitants either terrified or dead.

But there was hope. There was always hope.

The animals had been smarter than the people. They knew how to hide away, to take cover and find shelter. Many of them died, but enough of them had survived to begin repopulation. 

That left the few living humans left on earth to take lessons from them. Hunter-gatherer roots were finally returned to after hundreds of years. People learned how to live not only  _off_ of the land, but  _with_ it, to make use of every part of every animal, to hunt, to trap, to run, hide, stalk, and so forth.

Just as the Native Americans had migrated alongside the buffalo, the current remaining survivors found themselves wandering to wherever there was food or water available. But parting left them with none of the usual sorrow--not this time, at least. Because this time, there were trees. Where trees grew, life would be sure to flourish in its wake. The two of them were leaving, yes, but this time they could come back. This time, they could  _come back._  

Jeff nodded to himself, before glancing up at Scott. "...yeah, y'right. Let's get outta here while it's still light."

A sharp nod. "West?"

The blond turned to look over his shoulder at Scott, a vague smile on his face. "You know the rules, Levy. Follow the sun."

\--------------------

After an hour and a half of steady hiking, grey-yellow twilight had started to fall over the land. The woods had begun to thin a little, but there was a river nearby. A perfect place to set up camp for the night. 

Scott tossed his pack on the ground and dropped into an Indian sitting position, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Okay, Hardy. We should start gathering wood for a fi--what are you doin'?"

"Shh!" Jeff snapped, crouching down and edging behind the tree trunk before yanking his shotgun out of the holster on his back. "I heard somethin'. Get down."

Scott crouched as well, but it wasn't as if Jeff didn't do this at least twice a day. Being on his own like this had made him incredibly paranoid. Not that he was the only one. So Scott crouched, because sometimes, he was right.

Nothing happened for a solid two or three minutes.

Jeff cocked his gun.

Scott stayed down.

Then, a twig snapped. That meant one of two things: that they'd found dinner, or that they weren't alone. 

_"Hello!"_ a coarse, gruff voice called. It was a person, at least one. But that was unlikely. Humans tended to be pack animals, but stragglers were always a possibility. Either way, Jeff was all right with eating somebody at this point. He was hungry as hell.

Two men appeared in the clearing: one a redhead, nearing seven foot tall, sporting a black bandana and carrying a dead deer. That caught him off guard. Who was strong enough to carry a _grown buck_   places? The other was a blond with short-cropped, spiky hair sticking out from underneath a backward-turned baseball cap, striking blue eyes, and a large knife. Presumably, to skin the deer with.

Jeff didn't get to blow their heads off like he'd wanted, because as soon as The One With the Bandana had dropped the deer, he'd spotted Scott. And had wasted absolutely zero time in  _tackling him._ While their little altercation was coming to blows, that left the blond one wide open. Jeff dove at him, spearing him to the ground and grabbing his gun back.

_"MARK! MARK, FUCKIN' HELP ME OUT YOU BASTARD, HE'S GONNA KILL ME!"_  

The One in the Bandana(who was now "Mark," apparently) dropped Scott. "What's the matter, Ji--CHRIST."

He turned around, only to see Jeff's foot on The Blond One's throat, the double barrel of his shotgun against his eye. 

_Against his eye._

Mark threw Scott to the ground and got through the brush and around the trees as quickly as he could. "What the hell are you doin'?!"

"The fuck's it look like? 'M gonna shoot his fuckin' eye out. Then yours,  _Bigfoot._ "

_Bigfoot._ What a rude little punk.

"Listen here,  _Barbie_." Admittedly, Mark did take a little bit of pleasure in the very indignant look he received--which looked more like a pout than anything else. "You let my friend up and I won't have to beat your skinny  _ass_."

Jeff leaned more weight on his victim's throat, raised his shotgun, and struck Mark in the jaw with the butt of it as hard as he could. Mark's stumbling and swearing a blue streak drew Jeff's attention away, and The Blond One wasted no time in throwing a hard punch at Jeff's kneecap. 

Apparently, that didn't do much more than piss him off, but just as he lifted his gun to blow The Blond's face clean off, Scott speared him to the ground.

"Hardy! Chill out, they can-- _look at me, you fucker_ \--they might be something of an asset to us." He jerked his head toward the dead animal that The Blond had scooted up against for safety. "They know how to hunt too. We could form our own band. Remember our band? We could have that again."

It took a few moments, but Jeff nodded slowly. "...yeah. Okay. Sure."

Scott nodded and grabbed the gun away from him, popping the bullets out and throwing it to the floor. "Stay right  _fucking_ here. I'm gonna try and talk to them."

\-------------------

Mark and The Blond One(or "Jimmy," allegedly) had agreed to share the deer with them in exchange for a few magazines of ammunition. They had begrudgingly accepted the "insanity plea," that Jeff was hungry and burnt out and more likely to exhibit aggression. The truth was that Scott had become someone that Jeff was fiercely protective over. The two had been through an insane amount together, endured more than should have been possible. Just because they didn't get along, that didn't mean that they weren't _family._  He would have done the exact same thing on a full stomach and ten hours of sleep, but Mark and Jimmy didn't need to know that. 


End file.
